


The Glass around your Heart

by Meg_Thilbo



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternative Univerise- what dragon?, And the Timeline, Angst with a Happy Ending, Dwarven ones, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotionally Constipated Thorin, Fairy Tale Elements, Family, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Gold-sick Thror, M/M, One-Shot, Soul-bond, Symbolism, Wise Bilbo, completely messed with the storyline
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-02
Updated: 2015-09-02
Packaged: 2018-04-18 16:22:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4712519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meg_Thilbo/pseuds/Meg_Thilbo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There was a dwarven myth of strange creatures being trapped within mirrors, forsaken to travel only in the lands which existed in the reflections of the real world. Thorin didn't believe in such creatures, of course and he never expected to see one much less fall in love with one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Glass around your Heart

_'The true love is a state of half madness, of some kind of soft obsession, ruling a so delicate kind of feeling that can lead a person from the greatest happiness to the most dreadful pain'- Lima Barreto_

 

There was a dwarven myth of strange creatures being trapped within mirrors, forsaken to travel only in the lands which existed in the reflections of the real world. Many claimed to have seen them, a sad or terrifying figure behind them, watching them with their cold dead eyes as they braided their hair or brushed their beards. And when they turned round, they would find themselves alone, the figure not appearing behind them and having disappeared from the mirror itself.

No-one believed them though, and, for the most part, they didn’t even believe themselves- thinking that it had been a trick of the light or a prank played by one of their friends or family members. Thorin, of course, did not believe such tales. They were fairy tales, tales told by their mothers to teach them a lesson or tales exchanged between friends around a fire in the woods, designed to cause thrill and fear, although no-one ever truly believed.

Frerin had tried to convince him that he’d seen a small creature in a mirror in one of the old storage chambers once and had even gone so far as to take him through the room full of furniture to show him the mirror. But when Thorin had looked through the glass, he’d only seen himself, his brother and the room around them.

“There’s no-one there,” Thorin pointed out impatiently, irritated that he’d been forced to come down here when he could be busy doing better things with his time than standing in the dusty room.

Frerin looked despairingly between Thorin and the mirror, grasping it’s edges as though trying to see further inside the mirror. “He was here!” Frerin insisted, “I saw him!”

Thorin scowled, “Are you sure it wasn’t just one of your friends? Or just someone cleaning the room?” However, even to himself, the last one seemed unlikely. The room hadn’t been cleaned for a long time from the looks of things and whenever they’d used this place for hide-and-seek, no-one had come to clean or even look at the items within. It lay forgotten to all but the few curious dwarflings who happened upon it.

“No, no! He didn’t look like a dwarf at all! He-he was here, I saw him,” his voice trailing off despairingly as Thorin continued to scowl at him, unconvinced by the tale.

“Well, what was he doing?” Thorin asked. He didn’t want to indulge his younger brother in his imaginary friend, Frerin was a prince, albeit a young one and if word got out that one of Thrain’s heirs was seeing people that weren’t there... well, more questions would be raised concerning the royal families psychological well-being. However, Thorin was concerned that there may be an intruder snooping around the upper halls, having come of age, his duty was to protect his family, no matter how bothersome they became.

“He was crying.”

 

* * *

 

 

Frerin was still sulking at dinner, pushing the chicken pieces around with his fork and glaring at them as though they had personally offended him. Only Thorin noticed that anything was amiss, ordinarily he might not have noticed either if it wasn’t for the fact that he knew _why_ Frerin was upset. Maybe he should have played along, turned it into a game of some kind to distract the dwarfling. But Frerin had taken it so seriously that Thorin doubted whether he would have been able to turn it into a game. He’d been so convinced that someone had been there, convinced to the point that it bothered Thorin. Illnesses of the mind ran in their family after all.

A gentle reminder was the empty seat at the head of the table where Thror should be sat. He was, no doubt, where he always was- sat in his treasure chamber, counting his gold and making sure that every single darn piece of it was shined properly. He’d eat on occasion, when his illness would break enough for him to remember to do the things he needed to survive, eating and sleeping when only absolutely necessary.

It put strain on all of them. Thrain, Thorin’s father, was left to attend to Thror’s duties, only telling the nobles and the public that he was succumbing to the effects of aging, nothing more, nothing less. As a result of all the lies Thrain was forced to tell for his father, and the smiles he had to force for his people, he had nothing left for his family. Where once their table had been filled with the sounds of laughter and recounts of the day’s events, now fell silent, save for the sounds of cutlery scraping against their plates and the occasional grumble Thorin’s mother, Líse, as she winced from a kick the baby in her tummy sent through her. Ordinarily, it would be a cause for jubilation- a sign that the baby was alive and strong, but no-one took any notice anymore. There was no laughter, no celebration, just existence and the need to get through each passing day.

Pressure was placed upon Thorin to look after his brother and to prepare for the day he would be taking the crown from his father, to the day where he would become the King under the Mountain. He enjoyed most of his lessons- his sword training with Dwalin and even some of the diplomacy and history lessons with Balin but what he dreaded most was when his grandfather called for him to attend and observe court.

It wasn’t that it was boring, Mahal, Thorin _wished_ that was the reason he hated court. No, it was because he had to listen to the suffering of the people, only for Thror to turn them away. The gap between the rich and the poor had grown considerably in the past decade, the nobles accumulating wealth from their position with the King and the merchants and traders suffering from the lack of trading that Thror was willing to participate in with the men of Dale and the elves of the Woodland Realm. Relations, as well as everything in this Eru-forsaken Mountain had turned sour under the dark glimmer of gold and Thorin wished he could get away from it all, escape from the Mountain and never come back- To leave and build a life for himself away from the overbearing weight of duty and the sickness of gold.... but he couldn’t do that to his family, to his people, he owed them too much.

And perhaps it was in that need to escape that Thorin found himself in the storage hall once more, allowing himself to indulge in something for a moment in what could be extraordinary.

 _This is ridiculous_ , Thorin thought to himself as he walked down the shelves, towards the mirror that Frerin had been so excited about. And yet, a part of him had been awakened by this, a sense of curiosity that he had not felt since he’d been a child, and maybe, even more than that, a sense of longing... as though there was something deep within him that he was missing.

The mirror itself was simple, just a plain glass panel which was framed between four pieces of oak wood, although, now that Thorin properly observed the carving, he could see in one corner where an acorn had been scratched. It didn’t look as though it had been carved there on purpose, it was too rough and unfinished. It was like someone had taken a knife and had crudely carved the rough shape of an acorn into the beam as an afterthought to the finished piece.

A sniffle brought Thorin away from his observations and he tensed immediately, his hand instinctively flying to his sword handle as he looked around for the source of the noise. His search came up empty, the room around him devoid of life and completely still. But then Thorin remembered the mirror, and feeling rather foolish, he stared at the reflection.

Ignoring the sight of his reflection scowling back at him, Thorin gave the room’s reflection a half-hearted, sweeping glance, not daring to look too closely- because to look too closely would be to think that there could actually be something within the mirror, to look too closely would edge too far to believing than Thorin would be comfortable with. Going mad like his grandfather was something he feared, something he dreaded and despised, something that he would avoid at all possible costs.

Thorin sagged in relief when he saw nothing than his own hard blue eyes staring back at him. It had just been his mind playing tricks on him, or maybe there was an explanation as simple and pure as a rat chewing on the furniture.

But then he saw something and panic immediately rose in his chest. It was a foot, sticking out from behind a bookshelf that was behind him. It was large and covered with a mop of hair, quite unlike that of a dwarf’s foot. His heart hammering, Thorin looked behind him, only daring to take his eyes off of the mirror for a second in fear that the image would disappear and he would become one of the dwarves within the kingdom who had claimed to have seen something that could not possibly exist.

Nothing, there was no foot behind him and the dust there lay undisturbed. Eyes wide, Thorin looked back at the mirror and the foot was still there... as was its owner, who was now sat atop the small bookcase, staring at Thorin with sad hazel eyes. The creature, whatever it was, was definitely not a dwarf. He was about the same size as a dwarf, but his ears were pointed where Thorin’s were rounded, and his face was beardless in contrast to the beards that dwarves had from birth. Thorin had a beard, although he favoured to keep it short, not feeling able to grow it long until he’d been able to do right by the dwarves of Erebor.

Thorin took a step back and contemplated running. He could leave here now, go back to his room, read a book or train with his sword and pretend that he hadn’t seen this creature.

He took another step, this wasn’t right. This was unnatural. Why had he come here?

“Please, don’t go,” the creature suddenly begged, his eyes frightened as he noticed Thorin’s retreat.

Thorin frowned but he stayed where he was, still torn between running and finding out more about the creature in the mirror.

“Who are you?” Thorin asked, his voice controlled and defensive, he didn’t want to appear weak if it turned out to be dangerous. What he really wanted to ask was _what_ he was, but then that seemed a little rude, even to Thorin.

“Bilbo Baggins of-... just, Bilbo,” the creature answered, swinging his legs on his perch. “I know who you are.”

“You do?”

Bilbo nodded, “I’ve watched you play here for many years, you’re the only ones that have ever come in here,” he answered, gazing about himself before returning his gaze to Thorin. There was something unsettling about him, a great sadness that lay behind his eyes that simultaneously seemed older than the younger body that surrounded them.

“Why didn’t you show yourself before?” Thorin asked curiously, taking a step closer to the mirror, leaving enough distance should he decide that he’d rather run and forget this whole event.

The creature shrugged, as though he was going to pass over Thorin’s question but then he said, “I was afraid.”

“Afraid?” Thorin repeated surprised, he didn’t know what right a creature of such a curious nature had in being frightened. But then, perhaps monsters were afraid of something too. Everyone was afraid was something.

Bilbo hummed his agreement, avoiding eye-contact, but did not elaborate. “Where’s Frerin?”

Thorin considered refusing to answer, but he doubted Bilbo could do any harm by knowing. “In bed,” he answered cautiously, not taking his eyes off of the strange being.

Bilbo nodded as though he’d expected the answer, “I hope I didn’t frighten him.”

“He’s a little confused,” Thorin conceded, “He’s convinced he saw you.”

“Really?” Bilbo exclaimed, his eyes brightening, “Well I suppose it’s different with children, they see more. Adults look but they do not see, not really. Although I suppose, you are different.”

“I take it we’re not the first to see you?” Thorin probed, feeling a little more comfortable around the cre-... Bilbo. He didn’t appear to be dangerous, and if he was going to attack Thorin then he would have had plenty of opportunity in the times that Bilbo had been watching them with them unknowingly playing.

Bilbo shook his head, “No, you’re not. That’s why my mirror is here, too many people saw me. Too afraid to smash my mirror, they put me here, out of sight. You’re the first person I’ve spoken too though, in a long time.”

“I have to go,” Thorin said abruptly, this was all becoming too much. He was speaking to a creature in a mirror, a creature that could not possibly exist in any realm of the sane.

The comment drew a pained expression from Bilbo, “Will you come back?”

“I-I’ll try,” Thorin said, already backing away.

“Please do,” Bilbo whispered, withdrawing back behind his shelf of books, but Thorin was already out of earshot, hurrying out of the room and closing the door behind him as if Bilbo could follow him.

His determined stride didn’t break all the way back to his chambers; he wanted to distance himself as much as possible at that moment, from the mirror and the being it contained. Passing dwarves and guards frowned at the sight of their prince looking so stern and anxious, but they did not interrupt him, perhaps out of fear of how he may react or perhaps they’d gotten used to Thorin looking like that.

When he got back to his chambers, Thorin did the only thing he could think to do and that was to shut his door, kick off his boots and clamber into bed, pulling the sheets tightly around him as though warding off a cold. He was 86 years old, but in that moment, he felt 35 again, younger still than Frerin and far too young to be handling everything that was weighing down on him. But even when he was a dwarfling, as the primary heir, he was groomed for leadership, not allowed to have friends, much less imaginary ones.

Was that what Bilbo was- An imaginary friend? Had he been the product of Frerin’s suggestions and his strained mind? As much as Thorin hated to admit it, the only way to find out was to go back to that room and find out more about the strange creature in the mirror.

 

* * *

 

 

For a while, Thorin avoided going back. Frerin had slowly gotten over his disappointment and gradually spoke less and less about the mirror or the room which he didn’t go in anymore.

But for Thorin, It was an ever present splinter at the back of his mind, digging in and reminding him that he should go back. It distracted him from his duties and after Thrain had dismissed him when Thorin had had to be told five times the current value of diamonds, Thorin found himself back at the doors to the storage room where the mirror was.

Bilbo was reading when Thorin visited him for the second time, but as soon as he came into view, Bilbo picked his head up and smiled widely, the laugh-lines around his eyes deepening. In a strange sense of curiosity, Thorin wondered what his laugh would sound like, but his pondering was broken when Bilbo set his book aside and he bounced to his feet.

“You came!” he exclaimed, moving forward to stand next to Thorin in the reflection.

The move unnerved Thorin slightly and he had to resist looking for Bilbo out of the corner of his eye, knowing that he wouldn’t see anything if he did. In response, he nodded, unsure on what to say.

“How are you?” Bilbo asked and Thorin was taken aback by the normality of the question.

“Well,” Thorin said shortly and Bilbo’s smile slipped slightly as he noted Thorin’s reluctance to speak.

But that did not dissuade him from continuing, “I suppose you have some questions,” he laughed nervously, rocking back onto his heels.

Thorin nodded, “I, If you don’t mind me asking- what exactly are you?” The time away had given Thorin a little time to compose himself at least, had he asked this last time, he may have blurted out, ‘what in Mahal’s name are you supposed to be?’ which would have probably led an awkward and short conversation.

“I’m a hobbit,” Bilbo said simply.

“Are there many of you?” Thorin asked. He’d never heard of a hobbit before, and he wasn’t sure if he was comfortable with having them in the mirrors of his home. Was there one in his bathroom? In his bedroom?

Bilbo’s eyes saddened at the question, “There were many of us once.”

“What happened?”

Sighing, Bilbo sat cross-legged on the floor and Thorin decided to join him, feeling awkward towering over Bilbo whilst they were having a conversation.

“There was a war, more of a massacre really, but either way, a lot of people died,” Bilbo started, reciting, clearing having thought on these words for a long time, “Morgoth was angry with Yavanna for undoing all the destruction he had spread, but what is strong does not wither, and no matter how he tried to destroy the places of life she had built, nature always prevailed. We among them endured, for a time at least.” Thorin sat forward, enthralled by the story which was drawing out some deep emotion from within the hobbit who now sat, playing with a loose thread on his breeches.

Bilbo continued, “Hobbits have a deep connection to nature, we can make almost anything grow in almost every condition. It was us who sowed the first seeds and who brought life to the outer-lands and who replanted every tree Morgoth’s servants destroyed. It was us who made sure that the first men, elves and dwarves had the crops to get through the winters and wars.” Bilbo’s eyes filled with tears as he added with a heavy tone, “And when they realised what we were doing, they began hunting us down. We weren’t safe in our hills nor in the trees or on the rivers, they found us anyway. Our mother despaired to see her children fall and she did what she could to save us, but it was never enough. In an act of desperation, she cast the only spell she could think of to get us to safety. She imprisoned us here, within the mirrors of Middle-Earth, each of us confined to a separate one, safe from the cruelties of the world. We do not need to sleep or eat and we do not age. But we cannot grow anything, we cannot see our families and we cannot have children or love anymore.”

As Bilbo finished, a tear tracked its way down his face and Thorin automatically reached out to comfort the hobbit, to pat his knee or his shoulder- anything to stop more of those tears falling. It was only as his fingers buckled against the glass of the mirror that he remembered the barrier that existed between them. Bilbo’s face crumpled to see Thorin’s attempt and he bowed his head so that he didn’t have to watch Thorin’s hand fall back down onto his own lap.

There was, however, something that Thorin was confused about, “But the wars are over. Why does she keep you here if you no longer need protecting?”

“I don’t know,” Bilbo admitted with frustration that showed when he lifted his head to meet Thorin’s eyes, “I keep waiting to be let go, but every day I spend here. I don’t know whether the spell was irreversible, that if she should lift it, we would all die.”

“What happens if your mirror gets broken?” It did seem rather idiotic to imprison someone in something made of glass for their safety.

“We cease to exist,” Bilbo replied with surety, “Our souls are neither here nor there so we cannot pass on. We simply fade into nothingness. How do you think the superstition about smashing mirrors bringing you bad luck started? We had to protect ourselves somehow.”

“Why did you trust m-... us not to break your mirror when we saw you?”

Bilbo shrugged, “I was tired of being alone, and I thought you may be too,” his eyes softening with a pity that twisted Thorin’s stomach. Thorin had everything Bilbo didn’t- he had a home, a family, a future. If anything, Bilbo should be cursing Thorin or spitting at him in jealousy.

“I do not want your pity,” Thorin ground out, but he did not leave.

“Oh Thorin, I do not pity you,” Bilbo placated, “I barely know half of what you are going through. I just know that a life alone, even with people surrounding you, is hardly a life at all.”

Those words disturbed Thorin more than he thought Bilbo perhaps realised. An understanding dawned upon him as the words circulated around his head and he realised that Bilbo had revealed himself knowing one of two options would happen- either the brothers would destroy the mirror or Bilbo would make a friend. Either option, Thorin then understood, would not have been unfavourable to the hobbit after his lonely existence.

“Can I ask you a question now?” Bilbo asked him tentatively, a comforting smile playing at his lips.

“Yes,” Thorin consented, it did not mean that he would necessarily answer so he saw no harm in hearing Bilbo’s question.

“Are you okay?”

Thorin looked away from Bilbo when he realised that no, he was not okay, none of them were.

 

* * *

 

 

Thorin couldn’t help but visit Bilbo often. Of all the people Thorin knew or had known, there was something entirely different and new with Bilbo. He didn’t have to pretend, because of cause Bilbo knew it all anyway, and was always able to spot when Thorin was lying or holding something back. Not that Bilbo always probed into Thorin’s private life or necessarily why Thorin came in looking angry or sad, sometimes they just sat and talked about anything but their problems.

It was a pleasant change to just sit with Bilbo and talk about things that didn’t matter. Thorin told Bilbo what was going on in the kingdom and the outside world. To Thorin it all seemed rather boring, but Bilbo was forever asking him questions- what colour were the leaves on the trees now? What time does the moon wake up? Where do the elves now live? It made Thorin take notice of things that he’d previously ignored, such as how time changed the life around him and how the stars changed with each passing month. The changing of the seasons was barely noticeable from inside the mountain where the temperature never dropped too low and Thorin had never really thought to observe the night sky, even when he’d been on guard duty. But after Bilbo had told Thorin of all the stories in the constellations, he had made an effort to stand on the ramparts and gaze up above him, to the millions of lights he’d not taken the time to know.

Thorin just wished he could take Bilbo to see them again, but he could not carry a full size mirror by himself and he had to settle for describing to Bilbo what they now looked like, the sky having moved and changed from the time that Bilbo walked on the soils of Middle-Earth.

“As the sun sets, the light of it glimmers across the lake, making it shine and burn under the suns heat. But once it sets, a dark veil stretches across the sky, enshrouding the world in a blanket of darkness.”

“And what then?” Bilbo would ask him, the tale never getting old no matter how many times Thorin told it.

“The sky, once empty, becomes alive with the light of a million lamps. The stars come to keep the moon company as she sails over us. And when you look down at the lake, you cannot see where the sky ends and the water begins, for a moment all is still and the earth takes a deep breath before moving forward again.”

Thorin smiled as he watched Bilbo close his eyes, allowing Thorin’s words to wash over him and consume his thoughts. Story-telling had not been Thorin’s greatest talent, but after spending so many nights listening to Bilbo’s tales, a part of that had rubbed off on him. And maybe, even more than that, Thorin spent time to choose his words with such care because he knew they were all Bilbo had left of the world beyond this room. Thorin couldn’t explain it, but when Bilbo laughed and smiled because of something he’d done or said, it made him feel more alive than he ever did outside of this room.

A blush crept up Thorin’s ears when Bilbo’s eyes fell open to find Thorin smiling at him. Whether Bilbo noticed Thorin’s adoration or not, he did not know, he just smiled in kind, and said, “I envy the fish sometimes.”

Thorin chuckled, “What?”

“Don’t laugh at me!” Bilbo exclaimed, but Thorin knew he wasn’t really mad. If they could touch, Bilbo may have playfully slapped Thorin’s arm, however he settled for lightly slapping the glass, leaving his finger-tips pressed against its surface. They couldn’t really touch, Bilbo had told him that Thorin’s reflection, within the mirror, was more like a ghost than a physical manifestation. He could see him, but not touch him properly.

Thorin observed the tiny pads of Bilbo’s fingers as the hobbit continued, “A fish gets to live in that lake all that time, with the whole sky reflected down around him. I just get this small space.”

“I suppose,” Thorin said conversationally, but it saddened him to know that he couldn’t be enough for Bilbo. A whole world was passing by them and Bilbo was missing it, trapped as he was. As much as Thorin longed to be, he could not be Bilbo’s whole world. He could only bring him bits of pieces of it with him to show Bilbo.

His eyes remained on Bilbo’s fingers and, not knowing what compelled him, he lifted his hand to the glass, placing his hand next to Bilbo’s. It was only with this striking comparison that Thorin realised how small and delicate Bilbo’s hands were, as was his whole frame.

Thorin knew he felt protective of Bilbo, he’d admitted to himself that a long time ago when he’d contemplated telling Frerin that Bilbo had not been a figment of his imagination. But he could not risk Frerin telling anyone about the mirror or Bilbo, he couldn’t risk losing the only friend he’d ever made for himself.

“I’m glad you’re part of this small space,” Bilbo then admitted, his voice quiet and more still than the lake when no wind blew across it.

Thorin’s eyes snapped up to his, and within them he could see the same fear that had been there the same day Thorin had met Bilbo. _Please don’t go._

As the words echoed through Thorin’s mind, he felt a desire to touch Bilbo greater than he’d ever felt before. He wanted to hold him, to protect him, to press soft assurances into his curls.

But he couldn’t, this was all they had.

 

* * *

 

 

In exchange for tales of the outside, Bilbo gave Thorin advice on how to make his life a little less difficult, starting with each of his family members.

“You cannot be happy,” Bilbo had told him, “Until those closest to you are happy. Spend time lightening their days and you will find joy in yours.”

He’d started with his grandfather. Instead of leaving him to obsess over his gold alone, Thorin went and sat with him for a while, gently encouraging him to come to dinner and sit with his family and not with his gold. It hadn’t been easy, Thror was loathe to part from the golden treasure that surrounded him, but Thorin’s presence had eased his obsession a little. Slowly, he told Thorin less and less about the wealth of their people and spoke more about duty, honour and, most importantly, family. Now, Thorin wouldn’t claim that Thror’s goldsickness was gone, far from it. But Thror was at court and dinner more often than he was previously, a triumph in itself.

And with Thorin’s increased care over his grandfather, he managed to convince Thror to allow him to manage trading within the kingdom during a brief moment of sanity. Working with his father, he’d managed to feed more gold towards trading and supporting those who struggled the most within the kingdom, gradually reducing the gap between the rich and the poor.

By extension, this alleviated the pressure placed upon his father. With Thror at court more and his lies becoming easier, Thrain had learnt to smile again. Not the false smiles that he’d forced for his people or the council members, but genuine smiles of pride and happiness as he looked to his two sons and heirs, and to his child who was yet to be born.

Thorin now always made sure to notice whenever his baby sibling kicked in Líse’s tummy, encouraging Frerin to come over and press his hand against her swollen belly. It was worth it to see Frerin’s face split into an awe-filled smile and for the ‘thank yous’ Líse would mouth to Thorin as her family gathered around her.

For Frerin, Thorin decided to teach him how to use a sword and bow. It was slow going, Thorin was not always the most patient nor the most competent teacher, but they both enjoyed themselves nonetheless. It was less serious and intensive than Thorin’s training had been, whilst Thorin took it as an opportunity to teach Frerin how to protect himself, he also took it as an opportunity to give Frerin a reason to laugh in between all the heaviness that lay over them.

They weren’t the perfect family, but with Bilbo’s help, he’d managed to make the most of things and bring back some of what they’d lost.

Of course, it was at this time, when everything was going so well, that it would all come crashing down again.

 

* * *

 

 

Thorin frowned when he realised that someone else was already in the storage room, a voice echoed across the room, the sounds incoherent. Fear rising in his chest, he walked further into the room, his pace quickening as he hurried to where Bilbo’s mirror was.

“Bilbo?” Thorin called as he rounded the corner, but he stopped dead when he saw who was looking through the mirror.

“Grandfather?” Thorin inquired gently, edging closer the elderly dwarf who was grasping the mirror between his hands, hissing ‘where are you?’

Thror looked up to see Thorin approach and the madness in his eyes glinted dangerously. “I was looking for you,” Thror said, his voice holding none of the kingly power it once had.

“I’m here now,” Thorin said softly, glancing between the king and the mirror and keeping his steps controlled and measured. “Come with me, we’ll go and get something to eat okay?”

His step faltered when Thror’s face hardened and he scowled darkly, “You’ve been stealing from me.”

This was just one of Thror’s episodes, it wasn’t really him, Thorin assured himself- he just needed to get him away from the mirror. “Let’s talk about this outside-” he tried but then Thror cut him off.

“Don’t deny it!” Thror shouted, rooting Thorin to his spot, “My gold is missing, you took it.”

“I have not taken any gold which is yours, grandfather,” Thorin said honestly, it was the truth, part of that gold belonged to the people- it was not the sole property of the King. “Please put the mirror down, and come with me.”

Thror looked away from him to stare into the mirror, “This was my mirror as a dwarfling. I had it put here when I saw someone who wasn’t real. They called me mad, they still think I’m mad...”

Thorin gulped. “We don’t think you’re mad, grandfather,” Thorin lied smoothly, “The mirror is not important right now. Let’s go and check your gold.” He hoped that a mention to the gold might spur Thror to visit the treasure hall, anything to get him out of this room.

However, Thror just continued to glare at his reflection. From this distance, Thorin couldn’t see Bilbo but judging by Thror’s behaviour, his grandfather couldn’t either. “I don’t want to be mad anymore! I don’t want to see what is not real!” Thror yelled. Thorin could only watch in horror as Thror pushed the mirror to the ground, barely able to cry out a ‘No!’ before the mirror shattered into hundreds of pieces.

Barely managing to keep down his hysteria, Thorin did not hesitate to run forward and push his grandfather out of the way, falling to his knees in front of the pile of glass. “Bilbo!” he screamed, picking two of the larger pieces up, searching within their depths for his friend. But all he could see was his own wild eyes staring back at him, his face pale and distraught. Panicking, he picked up more pieces, searching, looking but not finding anyone but himself and his grandfather watching behind him.

“He’s gone now,” Thror muttered insistently, “He can’t come back. I can’t be mad anymore,” but Thorin ignored him, picking up more and more pieces of glass, not daring to give up. He winced when one shard cut his hand and blood welled up from the swollen cut, dripping down his fingers and falling to the floor to join the broken mirror- part of himself, part of Bilbo, lost to the ground beneath his feet.

Pain flared within his chest as he finally let his hands fall down in defeat, allowing the shards of blood coated glass to slip out of the fingers and fall to the ground. He hadn’t even had the time to say goodbye, to thank Bilbo for all that he’d done for him and his family.

The realisation turned his pain into anger and Thorin shakily got to his feet, rounding on his grandfather who was staring blankly at him. Thorin’s fists clenched at his sides and he approached his grandfather, not knowing what he was going to do or say, only knowing the pain which tore at his chest and left him breathless.

Seeing Thorin’s anger, Thror took a hasty step back, the madness fading slightly in his eyes as he backed himself against a cabinet. Thorin continued to pursue him, feeling enraged and not caring for consequences, nothing mattered anymore.

“Please,” Thror suddenly begged, and Thorin’s step faltered. _Please come back._

Thorin watched as tears filled Thror’s eyes and he collapsed to the ground in front of Thorin, “I’m so sorry,” Thror sobbed, bowing his head as he knelt before his grandson.

Thorin froze, feeling disgusted at himself, would he have hurt him? Could he have hurt him? Sighing dejectedly, Thorin knelt down beside his grandfather, allowing the dwarf to cling onto him and stain his tunic with his tears. Thorin barely held him in return, feeling too mournful and alone, to fully return the gesture.

He looked one last time towards the broken mirror before he allowed his own tears to fall, his sobs barely audible over Thror’s cries.

 

* * *

 

 

In the days that followed, Thror abdicated from the throne, passing on his crown and duties to his son and grandson. There were moments where Thror acted violently, trying to take back the control which he’d relinquished in a brief moment of sanity. They just continued to care for him as best they could, preventing him from hurting himself or anyone else again.

And yet, Thorin still hurt. He’d not fully understood just how much he’d enjoyed his talks with Bilbo until he’d lost them. Every time he went to look at the stars, or saw a new shoot, or the leaves change colour, he’d find himself walking to the storage room, only to remember that he had no-one to tell them to. Instead, he told them to Frerin, who appreciated the time with Thorin, but he did not understand nature like Bilbo did. There wasn’t anyone who could understand or see things the way Bilbo had done.

To distract himself, and in the vain hope that Bilbo may have been wrong, Thorin gathered each and every piece of the broken mirror. It had been a challenge, many had shattered to pieces barely larger than a piece of gravel, but Thorin collected them anyway, leaving nothing to chance. He forced himself not to rush his project, fitting each piece together one at a time, making sure that no piece was missed or forgotten.

One shard at a time, Thorin tried to rebuild his friend- his One. His family looked in on him from time to time, not questioning why Thorin would spend such time over a broken mirror, simply staring at his own broken reflection or handling each piece with such careful adoration, he could have been holding a flower petal, or a lover’s hand.

When it was finished, Thorin could only despair as he saw that the mirror could never be what it was. The reflected surface was broken, distorting his image. Thorin looked for Bilbo nonetheless, searching, calling and crying for him. But the only movements he could see were his own as he pressed his hands against the glass, trying to remember what Bilbo’s hands had looked like, trying to remember how small and delicate they had been compared to his own.

Frerin found him like that often, talking to the mirror, telling the Bilbo he could not see about the stars and the seasons. His brother made no comment; he just took Thorin’s hand and pulled him away from the mirror, taking him somewhere more comfortable, to where he could be surrounded by his family.

Thorin visited the mirror less and less over time, when it grew too painful to speak to broken glass with no-one answering.

He couldn’t keep doing this, he had to move on. And one morning, three months after the mirror had been broken, Thorin decided he’d pay the mirror one last visit, to say goodbye.

The mirror was still there, it’s shattered surface twisting the image of the room and the dwarf it reflected. With a heavy heart, Thorin traced the cracks between the glass with his finger, feeling their cool edges one last time.

Before he could begin the goodbye he’d prepared however, a hand caught his. Thorin stiffened at the contact but he made no move to pull away as he recognised those nimble fingers, now entwining in his.

He stared at them for a few seconds, not daring to follow the hand to the arm and the body who was just behind him. He didn’t want this moment to be shattered like the mirror in front of him, he didn’t want to look and find it all to be a figment of his cruel imagination.

Thorin allowed his eyes to slip close in the sensation of Bilbo’s fingers around his. A gasp escaped him when he felt someone move between him and the mirror, their other hand coming to the cradle the side of his face. His fingers had been far softer than he’d dared to imagine, only being able to press his nose up against the cold glass around his heart.

“I love you,” Thorin whispered, keeping his eyes closed, still too afraid to face the cruel world of the real, the world where Bilbo could not exist. A strangled noise was all that he received in response, something between a sob and a cry.

The words were perhaps the only thing that Thorin could be sure were real right then. For if this was a dream then he would not allow himself a moment to wake. Warm lips covered his, taking his breath, his warmth, his thoughts as he responded in kind, capturing those lips between his. His hand found his way into the soft curls in front of him and he nearly whined when the kiss was broken, leaving him with his lips tingling pleasantly and a warmth pooling in his chest.

“Open your eyes,” he whispered and Thorin shook his head, moving forward to press their foreheads together.

“I don’t want to lose you.”

The lightest of kisses were traced against his eyelids, causing them to flutter, before Bilbo repeated, “open your eyes, please Thorin.”

With reluctance, Thorin allowed his eyes to fall open, keeping Bilbo’s fingers in between his and his hand in his curls. His vision nearly blurred with tears but he held them back so that he could find Bilbo’s eyes with his. They were clearer than Thorin had ever seen them, no longer locked behind the glass barrier between them.

Bilbo was smiling at him, sadness and happiness coming together in a bittersweet concoction.

“How?” Thorin murmured.

“I don’t know,” Bilbo admitted, “I did not fade as I thought, I wandered in between worlds but something tied me back here, pulling me home.”

“Please, don’t go,” Thorin begged him.

Bilbo pulled him into another kiss before smiling widely and saying, “I’m tied to you, you great lump. I’m not going anywhere.”

Tears, unrestrained by the eyes that had had their fill of his one, fell down Thorin’s cheeks, blurring his vision as he pulled Bilbo to his chest.

All over Middle-Earth, elves, dwarves and men were being surprised in finding a strange creature at the foot of their mirror. No longer the mythical beings that haunted their reflections, hobbits found their place in Middle-earth and nature once more- the spell having been broken when a soul-bond was made between two unlikely races, when a dwarf and a hobbit had been brave to reach through the barriers that existed between them, to find something that didn’t need to be physical to be real.

**Author's Note:**

> This is an idea I've had for a while but only just got the motivation to write as it all started to come together in my head. I guess within this I've tried to convey many messages about family, growing up and love but they're quite interwoven in places with quite a lot of symbolism with mirrors, seasons, time ect But it's open to interpretation of course :) I just hope you've gleaned something from all that.
> 
> As regards how and where I've ended it, It's not a completely happy ending with Thror still being ill and the kingdom having issues but whilst this does have fairytale elements, I didn't want it to be too far detached from real life- not all problems are solved, they just become manageable. 
> 
> This was inspired by Doctor Who (the girl imprisoned in a mirror in 'Family of Blood') and Harry Potter with the mirror of erised. The title was inspired by Mumford and Sons' song- Babel
> 
> Thank you for reading! I'd love to hear your thoughts on this and this AU :) 
> 
> Have a majestic day!
> 
> My tumblr: http://meg-thilbo.tumblr.com/


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